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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676985">over the river and through the woods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyStarboard/pseuds/SassyStarboard'>SassyStarboard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable, Bonding, Camping, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hale Pack 2.0, Minor Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, No Angst, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:27:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyStarboard/pseuds/SassyStarboard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles suggests they all go camping, regrets suggesting they all go camping, complains relentlessly despite the whole trip being his idea, and almost poisons his boyfriend. Totally not his fault. Pack bonding is supposed to be fun!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Went camping and thought this might be cute. Enjoy! Lmk what you think!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a cloudy but gorgeous Friday evening, perfect for camping. Though Derek, Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Stiles had been hiking for almost seventeen whole minutes now and Stiles finally was beginning to see why everyone else had turned down his generous offer of toughing it out in the wilderness. They trekked down the trail ahead of them, Boyd leading their group with Erica while Scott and Stiles hung back near the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate this fucking place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was your idea to go camping, Stiles.” Scott reminded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wrong. I hate it.” Stiles took a long, pointed drink from his water bottle to further emphasize his dismay. Scott rolled his eyes, but laughed anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one to blame but yourself, dude.” He grinned at him. Stiles pouted. Partly because Scott was right. Mostly because when Stiles had devised his amazing and wonderful plan for bonding in the middle of the woods with no indoor toilet, most of the others had been smart enough to decline his generous invitation. . Now, twenty minutes into their hike, Stiles was beginning to see why the others had literally abandoned him to the wolves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Camping sucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hate it?” Derek considered this, walking ahead of Stiles on the narrow trail and taking great pleasure in his boyfriend’s misery. “Does your change of heart have anything to do with the branch you tripped over? What about that bird that almost shit on you? Or the spiderweb you walked into?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ No .” Stiles shot back in a mocking tone, making a face at Derek before brushing off his coat for the eleventh time. Spiders were not his friends. Keeping the pace in front of them, Isaac snickered into his scarf and exchanged a snide look with Erica. Stiles scowled, put out. He should have listened to Lydia. There were too many things out here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. My mistake.” Derek marched ahead, shouldering both of their bags.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Asshole!” Stiles called after him, grumbling as he trudged up the hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See," Erica whispered gleefully, nudging Boyd in the ribs, "I told you they had cute nicknames for each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've got some cute nicknames for you too, Erica!" Stiles fired back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? How’s it going back there, Snow Miser?” Erica’s curls fell over her shoulder as she turned back to poke fun at him—this particular weekend was uncharacteristically cold for California and Stiles was not handling it well. The others—all werewolves, the bastards—were perfectly comfortable and were gleefully mocking his pain. Stiles stuck his tongue out at her in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Terribly, thanks for asking." Stiles rubbed his hands together, breathing on them for warmth. "I swear to god, I’m gonna take a page out of Skywalker’s book and find a tauntaun to cut open. It’s a freaking tundra out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s 56 degrees Fahrenheit, loser.” Isaac told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet you still have a heart of ice.” Stiles hissed, baring his teeth at Isaac before walking briskly past him to match pace with Derek. Together, the two of them fell in behind Boyd and Erica. Boyd had the map—everyone else had been too stupid to print one ahead of time—and hopefully they would make it to their campsite before nightfall. The sky was growing dark, and Stiles shuffled grumpily along in a needlessly thick winter coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek glanced over as Stiles approached him, his expression impossibly judgmental. Stiles gave a derisive laugh,  misery briefly forgotten as he caught sight of Derek’s adorable furrowed brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say anything.” Derek turned back to the trail, pointedly looking ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t need to.” Stiles reached up, turning Derek’s head to kiss the center of his forehead. “I’m fluent in Derek-Hale-Eyebrow-Language.” Derek’s face did something funny then, like he’d started to change his expression but stopped himself midway through. Stiles gave another laugh, warmer this time, and looped his arm through Derek’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked for a few more minutes before Derek spoke again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t bring that monstrosity of yours, did you?” Derek asked him warily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles frowned. “My what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That giant doll you bought while I was away on conference with Satomi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, if you mean the lovably soft, fantastically oversized wolf plushie I bought online while you were too far away to stop me, then no, I did not.” Stiles paused before admitting, forlorn, “He wouldn’t fit in my duffel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a he ?” Derek raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a Sourwolf .” Stiles said brightly. Derek made a face. “What? You were on vacation! I bought him to be my Surrogate-Derek!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bought him?” Derek shot at him. “You used my credit card, Stiles. That thing cost me six-hundred twenty dollars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a bargain, huh?” Stiles beamed. “Only one-hundred twenty-four dollars per foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In response, Derek unceremoniously dumped the other duffel bag back onto Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles shot a pouting look at Derek, stumbling slightly before adjusting the strap and speeding up his pace to catch up, accounting for the new weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know what I think?” Stiles said, slightly more out of breath than before. “I think you’re jealous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No living being has ever been jealous of an inanimate object,” Derek pressed, “I just hope you know it smells like it was  taxidermied.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How dare you." Stiles gasped, an offended hand flying to his chest to clutch at imaginary pearls. "Don’t ever talk to me or my son again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have a son.” Derek said. “What we do have is a sleeping bag that can only stretch so far, and given the choice between your living, breathing boyfriend or a giant toy—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a lot of interesting toys, Derek.” Stiles said, throwing in a wink. “You’ll have to be more specific.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind them, Scott groaned, making a retching sound in the back of his throat for emphasis. He grabbed Isaac’s hand, pulling his boyfriend past Derek and Stiles and up towards Boyd and Erica. Isaac followed him gladly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dibs on being the farthest away from their tent.” Erica told them, smirking as they caught up. Boyd grinned, proud. Scott and Isaac, however, scowled immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Isaac protested. “These tents aren’t soundproof, Erica. We’re all gonna hear everything no matter what."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be a man and admit you’re jelly of my jumbo stuffed animal, Derek!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why does it matter then?” Erica asked innocently, reveling in their fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know why .” Scott begged. “Please, Erica. It’s awful. And I’m not even talking about the actual . . . thing .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, not the thing.” Boyd said flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, not the thing.” Erica teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean!” Scott whined. “They talk to each other like they’re high on some sort of, of freaky love potion or something! Do you know what happened the last time I shared a hotel room with them? I could have gone my entire life without knowing which one of Derek’s fingers is Stiles’ favorite—Erica, there are some things you’re never supposed to know about your step-brother.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which finger?” Boyd asked, more to see the expression Scott would make than out of a true desire to know the answer. He wasn’t disappointed. Scott’s face turned a charming shade of pre-vomit green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm. Sorry.” Erica stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout, not sounding sorry at all. Boyd scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you guys.” Isaac muttered bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wish, honey.” Erica ran her hand down Boyd’s chest, her painted red nails trailing over his chest before falling lower and hooking into his belt loops. Boyd’s eyes followed her nails with rapt attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott and Isaac—who were now walking between two sets of equally sappy and disgusting couples—exchanged a look of mutual displeasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think we should’ve gone with "glamping" with Lydia instead?” Isaac asked, warily eyeing the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Scott grimaced. “I think we should’ve stayed at home with Allison.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wasn't originally going to post the second half of this but I cleaned it up a lot and I think it turned out alright so I decided to post it anyway. Lmk what you think!! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning brought a sense of calm.  Sunlight streamed down through the trees and into the tent, easily bypassing the thin screen of waterproof fabric. A light fog rolled over their campsite like morning mist, catching the sun and waking up the campground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You drool when you sleep and I’m gonna tell everyone.” Stiles’ voice spoke directly into Derek’s ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek groaned and rolled over, his skin burning up from the heat of the sleeping bag. He blindly reached around, only to find someone’s arm instead of the zipper. Derek opened his eyes. Stiles was staring at him from an extremely close range with a shit-eating grin on his face. Boyfriend or not, if Derek hadn’t been able to hear Stiles’ heartbeat and know there was another person so close to him, he honestly might have screamed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get off. I’m hot.” Last night Derek had been grateful he’d brought such a large sleeping bag. Now he felt like he was being spooned by a space heater. Stiles, unfortunately, had a different definition of </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>—in more ways than one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hell yeah, you are.” Stiles winked. “Even though you drooled an entire lake last night, you’re still hot. Stiles is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>moving, no sir. Not when the alternative to moving is staying in a sexy sleeping bag with his smokin’ boyfriend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek turned away in favor of burying his face in the cool fabric of his pillow. “No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> hot.” Stiles didn’t answer. Derek groaned into his pillow. “God, I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> the face you’re making right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can hear my sexy face?” Stiles asked, thrilled. Derek lifted his head to look at him. Stiles was making exactly the expression he’d pictured, right down to that stupid thing he did with his eyebrows. It was as adorably goofy as it was utterly ridiculous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard your </span>
  <em>
    <span>dancing eyebrows</span>
  </em>
  <span> face and if you don’t stop doing it, they’re gonna get stuck like that.” He said seriously. Stiles’ face melted into a pout. “And I meant temperature. Like a wool blanket.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A sexy wool blanket?” Stiles’ dancing eyebrows returned. Derek raised a brow of his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to think of you as a sexy wool blanket?” He asked. Stiles hesitated, thinking. Then—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ . . . you knew what I was like when you agreed to date me. You brought this on yourself.” Stiles kissed Derek’s cheek. Derek leaned over and returned the favor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I agreed to date you.” Derek said softly, “because you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on . . . and because no one else would put up with all this drool.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I still love you.” Stiles hummed, pleased. “I love you, Der-Bear. I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Derek said solemnly. Stiles grinned. He’d taught Derek well. Derek grinned back. “I love you too.” He laughed. Stiles beamed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too.” Stiles whispered again, kissing Derek’s nose. Derek’s nose scrunched up, ticklish. “Awww, look at your cute little nose. I just wanna eat it, it’s like a little—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quit being gross! We’re eating!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles gave an unmanly yelp as a large stick was thrown into the side of their tent. He scrambled backwards, arms raised to defend against attackers. Derek snarled, instinctively crouching over Stiles. He trained his ears, listening for the voice of the disruptor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jesus, Erica. They won’t listen if you’re gonna be a bitch about it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“My natural bitchiness is unrelated.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Irritated, Derek sank back into a sitting position with a scowl. Stiles groaned, then rolled over and let himself fall on top of Derek, wrapping him in the world’s most awkward hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, babe, they’re just jealous.” Stiles promised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, we’re not!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Scott called back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We’re really, really not!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Definitely jealous.” Stiles decided, patting Derek’s cheek consolingly. Then, pulling back, “Ew, drool.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up. There’s not.” Derek managed, flustered. At the same time, the voices of dissent grew louder still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gross, stop being weird!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dude! We’re eating breakfast!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if you don’t shut up, I’ll make you listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> eat something else!” Stiles yelled back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’ threat was met with horrified silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha.” Stiles beamed smugly, conspiratorially elbowing Derek in the side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you’re finally having fun.” Derek said, sitting up. The air outside of the sleeping bag was cool and crisp, a wonderful relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, right?” Stiles said happily, sitting up as well. “Who knew how sexy camping was?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>By the time Derek and Stiles emerged from their tent, the others had gotten the cooking fire going. It was nice and cozy in front of the makeshift breakfast stove, and Boyd, Scott, Erica and Isaac sat on camping chairs in front of a small, carefully controlled fire. They were curled up with their respective partners, firmly pretending to be lost in each other’s love so none of them had to make eye contact with Derek and Stiles after what they’d just heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek had chosen to set up his chair a good distance away from the flames, while Stiles had elected to keep himself warm by walking back and forth delivering overly inventive bacon s’mores to his boyfriend. Derek sat on the opposite edge of their campground, clutching a cup of coffee and giving Stiles’ creations looks of unbridled fear—camping with werewolves meant packing enough food to feed a small army, and Stiles was abusing that food to the best of his abilities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, try this one.” Stiles reclaimed his spot next to Derek, using his foot to scooch his chair closer so he could face him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m dying with excitement.” Derek managed, desperate to hide his concern. He was pretty sure Stiles preferred a live boyfriend to a dead one, and his last </span>
  <em>
    <span>recipe</span>
  </em>
  <span> had included something Derek couldn’t even identify. Crushed Poptarts, maybe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, really, see?” Stiles held it out, sensing his wariness. “It’s good! Because when you use scrambled eggs instead of chocolate, it really brings out the flavor of the peanut butter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I-I think you should have the honors.” Derek said quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.” Stiles shrugged, then fearlessly took a large bite of his “s’more”.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The effect was immediate. Stiles gagged, coughing sharply before leaping to a stand and violently chucking his s’more into the woods—the world’s most disgusting frisbee. Out of necessity, Stiles grabbed the other “s’more” and hurled it at the back of Scott’s head, bravely rescuing Derek from death by syrupy, crusty peanut-butter. It missed badly, but Scott shot him a dirty look as he pulled it off the leg of his chair. Unsure, Derek reached out and awkwardly patted Stiles’ arm—he didn’t know the appropriate gesture of comfort for </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry you almost poisoned me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Beside him, Stiles retched unattractively, wiping off his tongue on the inside of his t-shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That . . . seemed extreme.” Derek lied. Scowling, Stiles wiped off the edge of his mouth with the edge of his jacket sleeve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you start.” Stiles warned him, stealing Derek’s coffee and chugging like his life depended on it. “If anything, it wasn’t extreme </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>. God, I never thought I’d regret eating something with syrup on it but there’s a first time for everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a laugh. “Stiles, it’s not—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, shit, did all of them taste that bad? As in, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit? Be honest. Brutally honest. I need to know if this counts as a werewolf hate crime.” Stiles returned Derek’s coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not werewolves specifically,” Derek said slowly, carefully accepting the return of his mug, “but it was definitely a misdemeanor.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awww, man.” Stiles sighed, his culinary spirit mercilessly defeated. “Sorry I tried to murder your tastebuds, babe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“. . . I liked the hashbrown one?” Derek said consolingly. It was almost the truth. He liked hash browns. But the generous helping of Lucky Charms and grape jelly? Not so much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I poisoned you.” Stiles gathered, sullen. “Ugh, Der, I am so sorry. That stuff tastes good separately, I swear. I was just trying to spice up your s’mores experience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Generally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>spice</span>
  </em>
  <span> isn’t the goal for something traditionally made of marshmallow.” Derek said gently. Stiles pouted, whining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you let me poison you.” Stiles grumpily laid back in his chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was I supposed to say?” Derek asked, indignant. Stiles rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh, I dunno. How about, uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no thanks babe, I’d rather sit in the cold by myself and eat darkness.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stiles’ imitation of his boyfriend’s voice was shoddy at best. Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow. But Stiles was laughing now, so it was okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s 52 degrees Fahrenheit, Stiles.” Derek corrected him. “It’s not cold. A little chilly, maybe, but this—” Derek shot a long, judgmental look at Stiles’ puffy winter coat, “—is a little much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speak for yourself, but some of us have never experienced New York winters, Mr.Survivor-Man.” Stiles fired back, snuggling closer. The intended negative effect of his pouting diminishing severely when he cuddled into Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek reached into his own coat pocket and held out a napkin-wrapped chocolate chip muffin, offering it to his sulking boyfriend. Stiles drew back, thoroughly confused. Unlike Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale did not power himself solely on high-sugar snack foods, much less carry them on his person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit, is your coat magic?” Stiles asked, taking the muffin cautiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek huffed out a laugh. “No. I rescued it from your reign of terror.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Reign of terror is right.” Stiles chewed, talking around the entire muffin he’d shoved into his mouth. He swallowed. “Can’t believe you ate those.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shrugged. “You wanted me to feel included.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awww, babe.” Stiles poked his cheek. Derek’s nose scrunched up. Stiles smiled. “Next time just tell me to go to hell, m‘kay? That thing was an abomination.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek snorted. “It really was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles paused, and Derek caught a glint shining in his eyes before he smirked. “Such an abomination, in fact . . . think I need to make it up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Derek raised an eyebrow, amused. Stiles grinned, licking his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm hmm. You, Mr.Hale, are in dire need of some serious . . . you need s’more making-out . . . m-making-up to?” Stiles groaned. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is what I get for trying to make camping sexy. Just c’mere and let me kiss you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wash the rest of that s’more out of your mouth first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Derek.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“All in favor of permanently disinviting them from future camping trips?” Boyd proposed. Scott and Isaac, both of whom had been hit with Stiles’ s’mores projectiles, immediately raised their hands. Erica followed suit—not even she could handle spying on that much sappiness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So . . . ” Scott warily addressed the group, “who’s riding back with—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not it!” Erica said quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scott!” Isaac protested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scott cringed, apologetic. “Sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isaac glared at him. Then turned to glare at Erica and Boyd before finally glancing back to take in Stiles and Derek’s over-eager cuddling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ . . . I fucking hate camping.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! This is a paragraph I cut that explained why everyone else stayed home. I felt like it disrupted the flow of the fic to have a backstory chunk in the middle of it, but I think the reasons I gave fit the characters pretty well so I thought I'd add it in here.</p><p>"Allison, to Scott and Isaac’s great dismay, had scarringly bad memories of deep woods tactical training with her crazy grandfather and was probably never going to go camping again. Jackson had scoffed at them, which they had taken as a no. Lydia had initially agreed, but later retracted her decision upon discovering that peasants like Scott and Stiles didn’t go “camping” in air conditioned lakeside cabins. Lydia Martin does not sleep on the ground. Malia had also laughed at them for sleeping in tents, but had liked Stiles’ idea so much she’d decided to go out by herself and spend the weekend alone in the woods as a coyote."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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